


For Purposes Of Deception

by dorkilysoulless (custodian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Practical, Bisexual Dean, Blackmail, Bottom Dean, Clever Sam is Clever, Criminal Dean, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dean Winchester obtains a badge illegally, and one time he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Purposes Of Deception

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for [Hellatus Prompt Fic Tuesday](http://itfeltpurefic.tumblr.com/hellatus) on my Tumblr blog.

**#1 - Pickpocketing**

Summer street fairs are awesome. Loud music, beer, lots of bare skin and skimpy tops. It’s a fine-ass time all around.

It’s also basically an ideal environment for a little bit of larceny. He’s already picked three wallets, one of which turned out to be a damn good score, cash-wise. He should probably call it a day soon — getting greedy is just another way of getting stupid — but he catches a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye and he turns.

Two Sheriff’s deputies wearing badges on their belts walk by. 

Dean glances around, doesn’t spot any uniforms, and decides to follow them.

Picking from law enforcement is risky, period. In general, if he’s going to do something criminal, he prefers doing it far away from anyone who can arrest him. Still, he had to drop a couple of increasingly hot badges recently, and could do with a new one. 

Problem is, the two of them are side by side. That’s two pairs of eyes, which means double the chance of getting caught, locked up, and leaving a paper trail. Those aren’t the kind of odds Dean plays if he can help it, and he’s about to give it up when one of them stops at a churro cart. 

The other one keeps walking. Even better, he pulls out his phone and makes a call. 

Dean circles and checks for his opening. He double-checks he hasn’t been made. He confirms that he’s got a solid exit — a crowd around a couple of street musicians and a convenient alley — and makes his move. 

He brushes up, apologizes without eye contact, and tucks the badge into the front pocket of his jeans. The deputy doesn’t even flinch. No shouts. No chase. It’s like fucking butter.

Dean sorts his haul in a Starbucks bathroom. He trashes the wallets and most of the ID (with the exception of a lucky Driver’s License and Social Security Card combo) and all of the credit cards. He keeps the cash, gift cards, and the badge. Anything he can tear up he flushes. Anything big he wraps up in toilet paper and buries in the trash can.

He buys dinner on the way back to the hotel. Sam raises an eyebrow when he sees the badge on the nightstand, but doesn’t say anything.

 

**#2 - Blackmail**

There’s getting his ass pounded, which can be nice on its own depending on the circumstances and the parties involved, and then there’s getting his ass pounded by a dumbass cop he’s going to fuck over on a cosmic scale. 

On Dean’s top ten list of favorite things, that’s at least an eight. Maybe even a six. 

The guy’s got him pinned face-down into the pillows with one hand, and he’s got a grip on Dean’s thigh with the other, and god damn if that’s not pretty much ideal in terms of getting fucked. The dude’s fingers are tight in his hair, too, and every couple of thrusts the guy gives a sharp little tug. 

“You like that, you little slut? Huh? You like that?”

“Yes sir, officer,” Dean moans, just the way the guy asked him to. “Give me more, I fucking love it.” 

“You’re damn right, you do.”

It’s so ridiculous. And that’s taking into account Dean’s own personal kinky streak. If it weren’t for the fact that this dude is hung, he’d be in danger of rolling his eyes for all the wrong reasons.

He gasps and squirms when the guy smacks his ass, which earns him another slap and a sharp pinch on the skin over his ribs that’s going to leave a bruise. The more noise he makes, the more the guy punishes him. The more punishment, the more noise Dean makes. Talk about a vicious cycle.

“Jerk yourself off, slut,” the guy says, so Dean spits into his hand does what he’s told. Like, really, it’s no hardship. He’s been aching for some friction, and his hand is exactly what the doctor ordered. 

“What do you say?” 

“Thank you officer,” he gasps into the pillow. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Dean’s works himself hard and fast. There’s no need for theatrics at this point. Just relief. He comes messy into the bedding, which must inspire the guy on top of him, because he pulls out, shoves Dean onto his back (and into that same bedding), and comes all over Dean’s neck and face. 

The guy’s still wearing his uniform hat. It’s all he can do not to crack up. 

Dean wipes his face clean with the corner of the sheet, slides his feet off the edge of the bed, and sits up. He stretches his shoulders and rolls his neck. “Well. That was invigorating.” 

The guy in the bed next to him chuckles, low and dirty. “Hell yeah, it was. Money’s on the dresser, by the way.”

“Awesome. Thanks.” He reaches down for his jeans and his underwear and starts getting dressed. He stands up, zips his jeans, and buckles his belt. The money goes into his pocket first thing. He doesn’t bother to try and look sexy. The guy wants to watch, he can watch. Whatever. 

“You want to know a little secret, officer?” Dean asks, as he pulls his t-shirt on. 

“Hm?” 

Dean reaches over to the bedside table and picks up the tiny camera he’d tucked behind a photo of this cop, his wife, and their two smiling kids. 

“You’re on Candid Camera.”

The room goes dead fucking silent, and Dean can actually see the color go out of the guy’s face. 

“How much do you think Chief Azikwe is gonna like seeing one of his boys plowing a hustler’s ass on the eleven o’clock news? Like, a lot? Or a whole lot? Oh, and don’t get any ideas about stealing this little thing. It’s wireless.” 

Dean smirks and watches Officer What’s-His-Face’s expression go from rage to despair real fucking quick. 

“What do you want?”

Dean reaches down and picks up the guy’s badge. “Oh, I don’t know. This looks nice.”

The cop raises his eyebrows. “You want my badge?”

“Call it a souvenir. Oh, and if you try and fuck with me — APBs, charges, anything — I will find you. And believe me, you will not like that result. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he says, dumb fucking patrol hat still perched on his head. “I get you.”

 

**#3 - Breaking and Entering**

Dean jimmies the lock on the window with his pocket knife, then pushes it open. Sam climbs in first; Dean follows and closes the window behind them. 

Darren Pierce — their apparent vic, vanished in what their witnesses described as a ball of humming light — may not have left any trace, but whoever got here first sure did. His home office is already ransacked. Papers are strewn everywhere, the desk chair is broken and on its side next to an emptied bookshelf, and the laptop dock is empty. 

“Damn it.” Dean kicks the side of the desk.

“Sulfur,” Sam says, and brushes at the yellowish powder on the desk. “Looks like we’re not the only ones trying to track this guy down.”

“Gee, you think?” Dean paws through an already opened drawer, then slides it shut. 

“We should give the place a once-over anyway.” Sam nudges the chair with his boot. “I mean, they might have missed something.” 

“Dude, there’s no way they missed anything.”

Sam ignores him and starts to dig through the damage. Dean sighs and joins in.

An hour later, there’s no sign of anything that’ll get them any closer to Pierce, or figuring out what happened to him. 

“Well, what’s our next step?” Dean pokes at Pierce’s leather coat. It’s one of the few things that’s still in its right place, hanging from the coat tree. 

“No idea. Maybe call Cas? See whether he’s found anything out?”

Dean rifles the pockets more out of curiosity than anything else. A minute later he’s up half a roll of Lifesavers, five bucks, and…oh hell yes.

He holds Pierce’s Texas Ranger badge up where Sam can see. “Hey, check it out. I’m Chuck Norris!” 

Sam shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Dean shoves the badge in his pocket.

 

**#4 - Dumb Luck**

The bed is warm and soft and smells good. Dean feels good. He feels a little stupid for falling asleep and staying that way because that’s not how he usually rolls, but he smells coffee and bacon, so he’s cautiously optimistic that this isn’t going to be a problem. 

A couple of minutes later, Shelley walks in with a breakfast tray. Pancakes. She made pancakes. And bacon. And coffee. 

“Must’ve done okay last night if you’re bringing me breakfast,” he says as he sits up, still muzzy but smiling. 

“I was thinking we could pick up again where we left off.” Shelley says, as she nestles in next to him. “But, um, breakfast first.”

“Definitely.” 

Dean likes to pretend he’s not a cuddler, but that’s a lie. He loves touching. He loves to be touched. He picks up a crispy slice of bacon, breaks off a piece, and holds it up to her lips. She takes it from him with her teeth. It’s not long before they’re sharing bites of pancakes with sticky fingers and laughing. 

It’s not even sexual. It’s just…nice. Shelley’s a genuinely awesome woman. How she ended up bringing Dean home of all people is beyond him, but he’ll take it. 

“I gotta say, you make me wish I could stay in Omaha.”

She shrugs. “Eh, I’m not really in town that much.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My job has me on the road a lot.” She leans against the headboard and cradles her coffee in her hands. “Unsurprisingly, it’s not great for my love life. Last night excepted.”

“Hey, us nomads have to stick together,” Dean says, and gives her shoulder a friendly nibble. “So what do you do? Sales? Transport?”

“Federal agent, actually.” 

Dean freezes for the barest second, then tries to seem pleasantly surprised. “Whoa, seriously?” 

“Yep. FBI. Based out of the satellite office here in town.” 

He licks his lip. “So, uh, those were your service cuffs last night?” 

“Yep. Want to try ‘em out again?”

“God yes.”

They don’t get out of bed until the afternoon, and even then they only do because Shelley’s got some kind of book club that night.

She hops in the shower. He lets himself out.

On his way, he spots her badge next to her briefcase on the dining room table. He feels a little bad about taking it — like, when is he ever going to try being someone named Shelley Choi? — but maybe Charlie’ll need a new one at some point, and most people don’t read the damn things anyway.

 

**#5 - Mercy Killing**

If anyone had told Dean ten years ago that he’d have friends in law enforcement, he’d have laughed in their face. These days, though, it seems like he’s picking up buddies left and right. Jody Mills. Donna Hanscum. Oh, and the guy he’s got pinned down to a filthy tile floor: Colin Craig.

Dean remembers meeting him. It happened the usual way — monsters, dead loved ones — but by the time Dean caught up with him, he’d all but sorted the whole case out himself. Colin never went full-on hunter, but he did his fair share, and Dean learned more than once that having a US Marshal on speed dial was damn useful. 

Colin shouldn’t even be able to move. His back must be broken in two, maybe three places. And yet, it’s all he can do to keep the bastard pinned. There’s something in his blood, just like all the other vics, and it’s nasty.

He pushes the muzzle of his pistol to the back of Colin’s skull, closes his eyes, and fires twice.

Beneath him, Colin’s body goes limp. 

There’s no time to stop. No time to mourn. The noise from the shots will get the attention of the rest of the infected bodies in the hospital. 

Dean rubs his forearm across his cheek, and tries to decide which way to run. Before he goes, though, he takes Colin’s gun, knife, and badge. It’s a shitty thing to do, rolling a dead friend for useful supplies, but survival has to take precedence, and it’s not like he ever has to use the badge, right?

Somewhere at the end of the corridor, Dean hears a door slam open. 

He runs.

 

**#6 - Sam**

Dean’s half asleep, coffee in hand, when Sam comes in with a box under his arm.

“Doing a little online shopping?”

“You could say that.” Sam drops the box on the table, then flicks open his pocket knife. A minute later, he’s laying out a row of brand new badges, with leather wallets to match.

Dean looks at them, dumbfounded. “What are those, costume pieces?”

“If by that you mean real badges attached to fake identities, sure.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You can do that?”

“Uh, clearly, yeah. Beats the hell out of stealing them, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Curious, Dean reaches over and picks one up. He turns it over in his fingers. Definitely real enough. “Huh.”

“Want me to do you up a set?” Sam picks up a badge, fixes it into its wallet, then puts it back in the box. “Might take a few days, but—”

“Nah.” He puts the badge down, slides it Sam’s way. “I’m good.”


End file.
